


France and Beyond

by missingMelbs



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:50:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingMelbs/pseuds/missingMelbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne and Jack are in France at the end of July 1930</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tour de France

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a longer fic; the main things you need to know are that Phryne left for Europe, Jack came after her, now they are in France, and they are beginning to explore a relationship. 
> 
> The first chapter is G rated, the second is E.

With all the excitement of being back in Paris, and the arrangements for their side trip to Belgium, Phryne hadn't even realized the Tour de France was happening, until one afternoon when she couldn't find Jack. She had wanted to take him to meet an artist friend she had met by chance at the boulangerie yesterday. But Jack was nowhere to be found. She had noticed he often seemed to disappear for a while after lunch, and again in the early evening, but had assumed he simply needed some time to himself. However, he wasn't usually gone for this long. Frustrated, she finally gave up and went by herself. She enjoyed reconnecting with Georg, but wished Jack had been with her - his presence made it much simpler to rebuff a man's advances, and resisting temptation had never been her strong point.

Phryne returned to the hotel several hours later, and was surprised to find that Jack's whereabouts were still a mystery. As she dressed for dinner, Phryne realized she was starting to be annoyed with his continued unexplained absence. Finally, Jack arrived to escort her to dinner - an hour later than their usual time. He was profuse in his apologies, but Phryne cut him off, saying coldly, "You have no obligations to me, Inspector, beyond those of common courtesy."

That stopped him in his tracks, but Phryne continued on her way to the dining room, not even glancing back at him. She felt a bit guilty about that, truth be told. Jack was always unfailingly polite, and she thought this was the first time he had ever been late since she'd known him. Not to mention that he probably didn't even realize she had been looking for him earlier, so he would have no idea why she was this upset. She admitted she was overreacting a bit, though she refused to say so. After a moment, Jack caught up to her, settling her hand on his arm without comment. Which, Phryne reflected, spoke volumes.

Once they were seated, Jack finally spoke, "I'm sorry I was late tonight. And I wanted to let you know I will most likely be late tomorrow as well. Perhaps you would prefer to make plans without me."

Phryne looked at him, cocking an eyebrow in a way that usually encouraged him to share his thoughts. To her surprise he blushed! What on earth? she thought. 

He looked down at the table, then back at her, finally giving in with a sigh, "Tomorrow is the end of the Tour de France," he admitted. "I've been listening to the radio broadcast in the afternoons to keep track of the racers, but tomorrow they arrive at the Parc des Princes."

Phryne felt like a heel, "Jack! You should have said something, darling." He had told her once that he as a boy he'd dreamt of riding in the Tour. Now here he was in Paris, in July - of course he'd want to be at the finish. And how like Jack, not to even mention it. It was times like these she really wanted to wring Rosie's neck. And her own, a tiny part of her admitted. Almost hesitantly, she said, "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Jack. Would you mind if I came along?"

***

So they made a day of it, arriving early to stake out seats, with a well-stocked picnic basket, books, letter writing supplies, and even playing cards in case they got desperate (Phryne hated card games). Jack had regaled her with stories about his childhood dream of riding in the Tour, his own biking adventures, and the Tour itself. 

"… it was an absolute fiasco! The racers would make arrangements to get picked up somewhere along the route once it was dark so they could get ahead. A few were caught red-handed, and the times for the top finishers were impossible even though the judges couldn't prove anything. So now they do it in stages, a leg each day, no more racing straight through, and the racers are never out of sight." 

Jack's enthusiasm was endearing, Phryne thought. She was much more interested in admiring the bikers' bodies than in the race itself, but she had to admit she was enjoying listening to Jack's deep, rumbling voice. And the antics involved in earning the prize for most combative racer might be fun, she thought.

"My brother and I ran our own unofficial Tour de Melbourne every summer when our cousins visited from Sidney for the holidays. We'd drum up some of the local kids, and find some extra bikes for the visitors. We did a circuit of Melbourne each day for a week. We even had a yellow armband for the leader each day." A shadow crossed his face briefly.

"What happened?"

"There was an accident in Fitzroy one year. Luckily we were all in a group, and we heard Danny fall. But then we heard the squeal of brakes." He paused, and Phryne reached out to take his hand. He smiled gently at her, "He was alright, but it scared us all, and when his parents found out, we all got a hiding." He took a deep breath, "After that, no more Tour." He sounded wistful, and it gave Phryne an idea.

The publicity caravan arrived first. Jack was a little taken aback by the idea of it, though he did seem to approve of the idea of all the riders using the same bikes, and he admitted, "Desgrange can't be expected to pay for everything himself." 

It seemed Henri Desgrange, founder, sponsor and organizer of the Tour, had decreed not only that every racer would ride one of the identical plain yellow bikes he provided, but also that the teams would race under the flags of their countries, not the sponsorship of companies which would use them for advertising. Unfortunately, that meant the teams didn't have the financial backing they needed for the race, and Desgrange had stepped up to replace much of that funding himself. Hence the publicity caravan - Desgrange had sold advertising in the caravan that preceded the racers to the finish line each day.

Finally the leading racers appeared and the crowd, already restless from the long wait, roared. The French were well represented in the early arrivals, including the winner of the final stage, Charles Pelissier, and the overall winner, André Leducq, despite the fact he had experienced a bad fall and a broken pedal earlier in the race. 

Phryne thought Jack seemed somewhat reserved in his enthusiasm over the French team, even before she made a comment about Pelissier's thighs. But afterwards he was downright sullen. "Now Jack," Phryne chided him, "Don't sulk, it's not becoming. Who was your favorite anyway?"

Jack shrugged, "It's not that, really, although I did have my eye on Demuysere and the Belgians. It's just that the Pelissier brothers win by using drugs. A lot of the riders do, actually. The racers who refuse to use drugs just can't compete."

"Is that allowed?" asked Phryne, incredulous, as they gathered up their belongings, stowing items in the basket and preparing to leave.

Jack snorted, "Apparently it's so prevalent that Desgrange had to put a statement in the rulebook clarifying that drugs are 'not provided' - racers have to bring their own." 

"So much for his attempts to level the playing field," she observed as they made their way to the street outside the stadium. Rubbing his shoulder, she added, "Not everyone is as honorable as you, my dear Inspector."

Jack took her arm in his, steering them away from the crowd, and lifted an eyebrow at her, "If they were, Miss Fisher, we'd be out of a job."


	2. A Bicycle Built for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the French countryside for Jack and Phryne on a bicycle built for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody made the comment that Phryne would probably appreciate the view on a tandem bike, and I couldn't resist that idea! :)

Jack was very much enjoying the view. He was pumping his legs, practically making the bike fly through the French countryside. This had been a wonderful idea of Phryne's, he thought, even if, as usual, she was making him do all the hard work. They had been traveling the last leg of this year's Tour de France route in reverse, albeit much more slowly than the racers. Phryne had worked some sort of magic, somehow getting her hands on one of Desgrange's yellow Tour bikes, and Jack had set off from their hotel in Paris in the early hours yesterday morning, meeting up with Phryne in Beauvais mid-day before continuing on his little yellow bike to their hotel in Amiens.

Today she had worked another miracle, producing a tandem bicycle so they could do the next leg together. Their goal for the day was to make it to Arras, but they were meeting up with their luggage in Hamel, where they would decide whether they wanted to continue on bike or by motorcar. Jack suspected the latter, because they were reaching war country, and the other purpose of their journey. He didn't know how either one of them would handle seeing the battlefields they had worked so hard to leave behind, but they had agreed that they would try.

But that was this afternoon. For now, he was enjoying the sun on his back as he hunched down low over the bike to reduce his air resistance, the feel of the wind whipping through his hair as they sped down the road, and the blur of the countryside going by. He could almost imagine he was part of the race, and he began to imagine the radio announcer's commentary in his head:

"Pelissier and the French are maintaining their early lead, folks, as they make their way out of Dunkirk, on this, the last day of the Tour de France. But what's this? A breakaway rider, making his move as they cross the bridge, heading out into the French countryside. It looks like one of the independents, and he's gaining ground, drawing closer to the French team. And according to our listing, it's John Robinson, the lone Australian in the field. Oh! And it looks like the French have spotted him! There appears to be some shuffling in the team, and they're closing ranks around Leducq, protecting him from the interloper. Robinson keeps gaining ground, though, closing the gap. Where has he been for the last three weeks? He's on the move now, though. The French are picking up the pace, trying to increase their lead, hoping the Australian will fall back under the pressure. It's still a long way to Paris and the Parc des Princes. If the French can tire him out now, they'll have no problems winning the day. Robinson is moving effortlessly, slowly but steadily gaining ground on the Frenchmen. Part of the team has broken off from the pack now. It looks like the main group will stay with Leducq while Pelissier and the rest try to entice the Australian into chasing them and wearing himself out. What do you think, Monsieur Desgrange?"

A second voice joined the first commentator in Jack's head, this one that of Henri Desgrange himself, "Well, Jacques, it's a risky move by the Australian, but if Robinson can keep up with the breakaway pack for long enough, he can turn the tables on them. He's held back for most of the race so far, so compared to them he's practically fresh. If they tire before he does, the French could find themselves in deep trouble, with Robinson positioned to win the final stage."

The first voice took over again, "I don't believe I've ever heard of this Australian before, Monsieur Desgrange. I take it you have?"

Desgrange chuckled in Jack's mind, "He's a dark horse, that Australian. He… "

It was at this point that Jack's mental commentary was rudely interrupted.

***

Phryne was also very much enjoying the view. She was practically drooling as she watched the muscles in Jack's tight ass ripple in front of her as his thighs pumped, propelling the tandem down the road. Honestly, it was taking all her self-control (never in great supply as it was) to keep from reaching out and…

"Miss Fisher!"

The bike veered wildly, and they almost crashed before Jack, seemingly through sheer force of will, managed to correct the balance and keep them upright, bringing them to a somewhat abrupt stop. They dismounted, with Phryne doubled over with laughter, and Jack leaned the tandem bicycle against a nearby tree, before glaring at Phryne, "You are incorrigible!"

Phryne gave him a look of pure innocence, "But Jack, there was a mosquito!" she said, batting her eyelashes at him and just barely containing her mirth.

Jack snorted and shook his head, although she could see he was trying hard not to smirk at her antics. "You're going to get us killed, Miss Fisher," he reprimanded.

"Nonsense! I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Inspector," she practically purred in a voice ripe with innuendo, as she moved close to him. "Besides," she cooed, reaching up with a handkerchief she had produced from God knew where to wipe the sweat from his brow, "You could do with a break."

Jack sighed, "Miss Fisher," he warned, "If you don't stop this, we'll never make it to our hotel." He glanced at her, with a slight quirk of his mouth, "Or the bed we have reserved there," he added, hoping to provide her with an incentive. He was hot and sweaty, and his muscles were pleasantly sore from his long ride yesterday. The physical activity might be increasing his own libido, but surely he didn't make an especially attractive partner right now, he thought.

"Who needs a bed, Inspector?" she smoldered, running a hand up his chest and around the back of his neck, and leaning in close. Her heated gaze darted to his lips before returning to his eyes. "We won't be reaching that bed until this evening, Jack," she added, biting her lip, "You know I'm not very good at waiting." 

Apparently he was wrong. Seemingly of their own accord, his hands fastened themselves to her waist and pulled her hard against him, sliding around to hold her tight. One drifted up to tangle in her hair, pulling her into a deep kiss, while the other reached down and cupped a buttock firmly as he ground himself against her, growling deep in his throat.

Phryne moaned into his mouth, her own hands urgently trying to burrow under his shirt to find his skin. When he felt her fingertips on the skin above his trouser waistband, Jack realized with a start that they were in plain sight on the side of the road, and pulled back, breathing heavily. His body practically screamed in protest, his need throbbing almost painfully. As much as his sense of propriety objected to this, the thought of getting back on the bike in his current state made him wince. To Hell with propriety, he thought wildly.

He looked around them hurriedly, then tugged her with him toward the nearby line of trees. Beyond the trees was an open field, with a farm house visible in the distance, but as he stopped to get his bearings, he realized that they were standing in a slight dip. It wasn't much, but the trees would hide them from the farm, and the dip would hopefully be enough to keep them from being seen from the road. Well, he amended to himself, it would once they were lying down.

With that thought in mind, Jack went down on his knees, pulling Phryne with him. "Why, Jack!" she cooed, "How delightfully…" then she squeaked as Jack pushed her to the ground, rising above her. He held himself up with one hand, while the other worked quickly to unbutton her trousers. Well! thought Phryne, if this was what a day of biking did to him, she definitely needed to plan more such excursions! She helped him rid her of her trousers and knickers, and began working on his, distracted by his tongue wrestling with her own and his fingers already probing in her slick folds.

It only took her a moment to free him of his layers and guide him to her, but by then he had her so close to the edge that the feel of him thrusting into her, deep and strong, made her clench around him and cry out. He stilled as she came, closing his eyes and straining to keep control while she shook. Then as her tremors gentled, he began to move, slowly now, with long, deep strokes, bringing her back to the edge. As the pressure built he moved faster, deeper, harder, until with a wild cry, he spilled deep inside her, and she came with him, echoing his cry. Jack continued to move, more slowly, now, shuddering through the last waves before he collapsed, rolling to one side and pulling her with him to snuggle into his shoulder.

They must have dozed off, because the next thing Jack knew, the sun was rather lower than he would have liked. "Phryne," he said softly, "Wake up, love. We need to go."

As they approached the bike, after having adjusted their clothing, Jack raised an eyebrow and smirked at Phryne, saying, "I think perhaps I had best take the back position, Miss Fisher, or we may never reach our destination."

Phryne pouted at him for a moment, then mounted the front seat of the bike, wiggling her bottom at him enticingly. "If you insist, Inspector." 

Jack groaned to himself. He just couldn't win, he thought, although part of his brain retorted, Don't you mean 'Can't lose'? He took in the delectable view in front of him as they set off again, and thought, Yes, that too.


End file.
